


Those Who Can't

by bnsolo



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, also don't @ me about my lack of knowledge of the us school system, i'm just a simple brit idk what a 'junior high' is, maybe some smut later idk, the teachers au no-one asked for, we'll see how this goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-01-21 23:47:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12468688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bnsolo/pseuds/bnsolo
Summary: "Those who can, do; those who can't, teach." - George Bernard ShawIf there's one thing every student at Derry High knows, it's that their disaster of a Drama teacher, Richie Tozier, has a crush on the most organised and functional Math teacher ever - Stan Uris. But if it's so obvious to all his students, how come it's not obvious to Stan? Richie's Drama students decide to help their favourite teacher out a little, with varying degrees of success.





	1. First Day Back

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: i know nothing about the american education system and i'm not about to learn now lol. richie is based a little on my own drama teacher which is why he teaches drama, i know american students don't do drama as a class but w/e in england we do so screw it. apart from that i am trying to make this as accurate as possible so actually do tell me if i get anything wrong. format wise, i'm gonna try and do chapters based around different events (like school dances, field trips etc) so if you have anything you want to see, tell me in the comments. thanks for reading and enjoy!  
> 

Jeannie Ziegler scuffed her toes against the smooth wooden boards and slumped further down in her seat. To her right, her best friend Isaac was on his phone, and behind her the rest of her drama class laughed and chattered, growing progressively rowdier as time drew on. Jeannie sneaked a glance at the wall clock.

“3:16. He’s sixteen minutes late.”

“Nice,” Isaac said idly, not looking up from his phone. A scrawny blond kid on his other side piped up.

“You know, if the teacher’s fifteen minutes late we can -”

“Yeah, that’s not really a thing,” Jeannie said cuttingly. “Who is this guy, anyway? I don’t think I’ve ever had him.”

“He teaches English too. Some of the older kids say he’s pretty chill,” Isaac replied. “Actually, Alex White said he was the best teacher he ever had.”

“Well, Alex White was clearly dropped on his head as a baby,” Jeannie sighed, “Because to be a good teacher, you actually have to show up to your classes.”

“Guess that’s me winning Teacher of the Year then,” drawled a voice behind them. “Good to know the standards are that low, I can stop trying so hard.” A bespectacled man in his thirties stood in the doorway, though that was where his resemblance to a teacher began and ended. He wore ripped black jeans, ancient Converse trainers and a t-shirt bearing the legend ‘Does This Shirt Make My Tits Look Big?’. His wrists and hands were covered in bracelets and rings, and brightly coloured tattoos climbed his arms. “Hi class. Please, for the love of God, don’t call me Mr Tozier, it makes me feel about a hundred and five. But also, don’t call me Richie. I’m not that cheesy. Tozier will do just fine.”

A couple of students giggled when they saw the shirt, but Jeannie just sighed. “Great,” she muttered under her breath to Isaac. “Welcome to your failing grade, Jeanette.”

“Oh come on, it’s just Drama. It’s not like we have to study for it or anything,” Isaac murmured back.

Tozier grabbed his phone from his back pocket and waved it in the air. “Anyone got a speaker? Left mine at home this morning.” The blond kid fished in his bag and drew out a wireless speaker. Tozier grinned. “Nice one. What’s the name?” While he messed about connecting the phone to the speaker, Jeannie rolled her eyes behind his back.

“Great. We won’t even be able to study for our other classes because we won’t be able to hear ourselves think.”

“My taste in music is very relaxing, I assure you, Miss…?” Tozier had turned to look at her. Jeannie blushed a little.

“Ziegler. Jeannie Ziegler.”

“Believe me, Miss Ziegler, I don’t mind you doing your homework in this class. I get the feeling you’ll want to join in with the rest of us, though.” Tozier winked. Jeannie pouted.

There were only seven students in Derry High’s 11th Grade Drama class. It wasn’t that small a school to begin with, so the tiny class sizes made Drama a unique subject in the school, and also an endangered one. Richie Tozier was only all too aware of how precarious his position was as Drama teacher, given how ruthlessly the school cut underperforming classes from the schedule, and although he enjoyed teaching English, his heart was with that little class, twice a week, Wednesday first period and Friday last. Every year he got what he considered to be the best students in Derry High (not that he’d ever _tell_ them that; gotta treat ‘em mean to keep ‘em keen and all that), and by the time they graduated that class had achieved something amazing that not even the American education system could crush. It was all a little bit ‘Dead Poets’ Society’, Richie knew, but he didn’t care. He loved the job too much. He flicked through his Spotify until he found the playlist ‘Songs That Are Educational But Also Go Hard’ and shuffled it. Pulp’s ‘Common People’ began to blare from the speaker.

“Okay, people. Welcome to Drama. First thing’s first, introductions. You know me, of course – the one and only Tozier, Derry High legend.” A few smiles and giggles. “But I need to know your names as well. No guarantee I’ll remember them, of course.” More giggles. “Going from left to right – you, red hair.”

“Sophie Ellison.”

“Martin Redfort.”

“Isaac Cohen.”

“No need, Miss Ziegler,” Richie stopped the dark-haired girl as she opened her mouth to speak. “We’re already acquainted.” She blushed right to the roots of her curls. Richie didn’t want to embarrass her, but her open antagonism and obvious lack of respect for him amused him. Usually, students either enjoyed his laid-back attitude and hero-worshipped him for it, or (very rarely) tried to take advantage of it. Richie had yet to meet a student who actively disapproved of the way he taught. And only twenty minutes into the first lesson of the year, no less. That had to be a record for the shortest amount of time Richie had managed to piss someone off.

The next kid along was speaking. “Sorry, didn’t catch that, Miss…?”

“Margot Roberts.”

“Okay, Margot. Next?”

“Jackson Jones.”

“’ _Jackson Jones’?_ What are you, a Marvel Comics character?” Richie asked. The class laughed, even the unfortunately-named Jackson.

The last student was a blonde girl named Veronica Hudson. Richie scanned the new faces carefully; obviously he couldn’t tell what kind of students they would be just from looking, but his Drama class always had the most creative and outgoing students in the school, and the most individual, given that not many would go out on a limb and take Drama in the first place. He felt like this was going to be a good year. Already, he’d had good luck – his schedule meant he could go to lunch early this year, and he had four free periods a week...two of which, he had noticed in the staff room, coincided exactly with Mr Stanley Uris’. _Not that that matters. At all. Even a little._

“Now that’s out of the way, time for a little light education, I think. In this class, I’ll be teaching you the basics of acting, directing, lighting and sound design, because I failed at being an actor and was forced to come back to my toilet of a hometown, live in my mother’s basement and teach moody teenagers for a living.” A chorus of giggles. Richie bounced on the balls of his feet, already feeling the familiar back-and-forth rhythm of teaching. “Your end of year exam will be putting on an actual production, which on the plus side means the only thing you’ll have to memorise is your lines, but also that you’ll have to embarrass yourself in front of your friends and family. Sorry in advance for that. And yes, the rumours are true – I _do_ do impressions. I only do my Principle Patton on very special occasions, though.”

“Don’t worry, guys, you don’t want to hear it anyway,” a voice interrupted as Richie’s seven groaned in mock anguish. Standing in the doorway of the little backstage space, hands in pockets, was the man voted by many of his students the Hottest Teacher in Derry High – Stanley Uris. Richie was struck with the sudden urge to fix his hair, straighten his glasses and stand taller. He fiddled nervously with one of his wristbands.

“Stan the Man!”

“ _Mr Uris,_ ” Stan replied through gritted teeth, already regretting visiting Richie’s class. “And I think you have my board pen. Again.”

“Whoops, sorry. You know I always lose mine, so...”

“It’s only a day into the school year, Mr Tozier.”

“True.” Richie laughed nervously, running his hand through his hair again. He tossed Stan the pen, who of course caught it perfectly. “I guess just can’t keep my hands off your junk.” He raised his eyebrows cheekily as the class burst into shocked and hastily stifled giggles. Stan just rolled his eyes.

“Rich -” He caught himself just in time. “ _Mr Tozier_. Try to keep it professional.”

“Don’t know the meaning of the word,” Richie replied cheerfully.

“Evidently." Stan's eyes flicked up and down Richie's chest, reading the words of his shirt. His lip curled. "Well, if you’re quite finished, I have to get back to _teaching_.” Stan turned on his heel and left. Richie watched him go, still flushed and smiling. After a moment, he turned back to his class.

“Extra-credit assignment, guys. If you can get me his number, you’re exempt from the final exam.”

“Seriously?” asked Jackson eagerly. Richie laughed along with the class.

“No, not _seriously,_ Jones. No-one gets out of the exam. I’ll buy you a beer, though.”

“Are you dating Mr Uris?” Veronica asked. “Everyone says you are.”

_Do they indeed? Now why could that be?_ “No such luck,” Richie replied wistfully. “I think my raw masculinity and razor-sharp sense of humour intimidates him.” Even Jeannie Ziegler laughed at that one.

Stan was pleased to see his class getting on with the starter questions he’d assigned them quietly as he walked back into the classroom. “Sorry about that, everyone. How are we getting on?” A chorus of ‘good’s and ‘fine’s met him. “Great. I’ve printed out copies of the curriculum for everyone, so you can see that this semester we’ll be looking at Trigonometry...yeah, yeah, I know. But I promise, it’s simple once you know how to do it.” Stan loved Math, loved the simple, straightforward rules that governed everything, the lack of ambiguity, the clean lines and the way everything fit together perfectly. He loved _teaching_ Math even more – seeing the face of a struggling student light up as something Stan said flicked a switch in their brain and they suddenly saw what he saw was the best feeling in the world. Surely, no other subject had that feeling.

_Drama_ definitely _doesn’t,_ he found himself thinking smugly. His brush with Richie had left him feeling as frustrated as ever – only one day into the school year, and they were already butting heads. Only explaining the concept of the opposite, adjacent and hypotenuse sides of a triangle could calm him down, but as he taught, writing neat and even notes on the whiteboard, his mood settled. Sure, Richie was annoying, unprofessional and disruptive, but maybe Stan had missed the familiar rhythms of their back-and-forth arguments while they had been away on summer vacation. Maybe. He shook his head a little, coming back to reality. In any case, Richie should have known better than to call Stan by his first name and make such inappropriate comments in front of students. It wasn’t funny, whatever Richie thought. God knows how his classes got passing grades at all, the way he taught them. And every year, Stan ended up getting dragged into Richie’s nonsense. Every year, always something – some stupid prank or outlandish school trip or disastrous dance. Well, not this year. This year, Stan would just get on with his job.

_Yeah. Dream on, Uris._

The final bell rang and classroom doors banged open all along the corridor, but Stan’s class knew better. They were all a little afraid of Mr Uris, though they loved him, too. They stood quietly behind their desks until he dismissed them.

Richie’s class, meanwhile, had been let out five minutes early as a reward for ‘being chill’. They milled around their lockers, waiting for friends, while Richie loitered outside Stan’s classroom. His class filed past, talking and laughing, occasionally greeting Richie with a smile or a ‘Hi, Mr Tozier’. Finally, the last of them disappeared down the corridor, and Richie slid into the classroom, rapping his knuckles on the door. Stan looked up from packing his things into his leather satchel.

“Mr Tozier. Can I help you?”

“Just wanted to say sorry for the pen, Stan the – er, I mean, Mr Uris. And the comments. Sometimes, you know, my mouth runs away with me -”

“I’m wildly aware,” Stan cut him off curtly. Richie swallowed.

“Yeah. Sorry. Come on, man, let me buy you a coffee to make up for it.” Stan pursed his lips. He tried hard to keep it professional between him and Richie in the classroom at least, but it was four o’clock now, and, despite his best efforts, he and Richie were quite good friends. _Just_ friends, mind you.

“Fine. Angelo’s?”

“You know it.”

“I’ll meet you there. I have to print some stuff off for tomorrow.”

Richie grinned. “Not me. Got all of my lessons planned up here.” He tapped his forehead.

Stan rolled his eyes. “By which you mean none of your lessons are planned.”

“I resent that accusation. I take my job very seriously.” Stan brushed passed him out of the classroom door, and Richie felt the familiar jolt of electricity, the rising blush as Stan’s shoulder grazed Richie’s chest.

“See you at Angelo’s,” Stan called over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Richie replied, watching him go, an angel in a blazer and slacks, with his satchel slung over one shoulder. God, did he _know_ what he did to Richie? Of course not. If Stan had even the slightest inkling of Richie’s feelings for him, he sure as hell wouldn’t have agreed to have coffee with him. A relationship with another teacher was a step beyond the bounds of propriety that would bring Stan out in a dead swoon to even think about. Richie sighed, kicking idly at the linoleum of the school corridor, and headed out into the cool September afternoon.

Jeannie, Isaac, Veronica, Martin, Sophie, Jackson and Margot watched him go. The Tozier Seven, as they had already christened themselves, were having a hard time believing that Mr Uris really had no idea what was going on.

“You don’t really imagine teachers getting crushes, do you?” Margot mused.

“I’ve never seen a teacher with a human feeling in their soul,” Isaac agreed.

“I feel sorry for him,” Veronica said softly. “He looks so bummed out.” The Tozier Seven were already very fond of their new Drama teacher, even Jeannie.

“Are you guys thinking what I’m thinking?” Jeannie asked.

“Depends. Are you thinking about going home?”

“Shut up, Jackson. What if we...gave Mr Tozier a little help?” Jeannie was smiling a little, half-joking, half-not.

“Like, try to set them up?” grinned Sophie.

“Yeah. Exactly like that.”

Isaac shrugged. “Might make this year a little more interesting.”

Seven heads bobbed together as they made their way out of the school building, a plan already forming.


	2. The Losers' Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (fun new game guess which kid is which from their skype names)  
> askjdldaljdlsj i feel like this is Bad but nvm.....thanks for reading and enjoy!!

The Tozier Seven slowly trickled into the auditorium on Wednesday morning, onto the stage and through the wings into the backstage area that served as their classroom, knowing it was impossible to be late for Tozier’s classes and therefore having taken their time and bought coffee before class. Jeannie set her steaming paper cup down on the fold-out work-surface of her chair and cleared her throat.

“So, who else just doesn’t get those questions Uris set us yesterday?”

Sighs of relief came from every side.

“Me!”

“Oh, thank God, I thought it was just me -”

“Same! Why does he do this too us -”

“Does he understand not everyone has a Math kink like he does?”

Discussions of the previous day’s Math class and the torture of Algebra began in earnest.

“Is it me, or did he seem super grumpy? I mean, he’s always got a stick up his ass, but yesterday was...somehow worse,” Isaac frowned, taking a sip of coffee.

“What will you bet me that Tozier said something stupid and pissed him off?” Jeannie asked.

“No way, that’s basically giving my money away.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I’m a delight. Mr Uris loves talking to me. The stick up his ass is all his own doing.”

A chorus of ‘Hi, sir’s greeted Richie. Jeannie was watching him with a knowing look in her eye, as if she knew he’d stepped in at the mention of him and Stan deliberately.

“Yes, I know I’m late, but I was doing something very important and class-related...okay, that’s a lie. I was sleeping. But I see you all skipped out and bought coffee, so who’s really late here, huh?”

“It’s you, sir,” Veronica deadpanned.

“I’ll see you in detention or Hell, Hudson.” Richie grabbed his speaker from his bag. “Okay, guys. Today we’ll be picking back up on that improv from Friday, so partner up...yes, Jones, you’re with me again.”

The backstage rang with the scrape of chairs and the chatter of seven teenagers and one man-child. Improv in Richie’s classes always ended up being...interesting, to say the least. With Richie’s class playlist blaring in the background, Richie calling scenarios to the group and their frantic and often over-the-top theatrics as each pair tried to out-do the others, it was a miracle they weren’t interrupted by another irate teacher. _Thank God for soundproofing_ , Richie thought. After fifty minutes of screaming, theatrical wailing and one memorable instance when Richie asked for their best impressions of ‘a man being rejected in marriage and then eaten by a gorilla’ which resulted in Jackson jumping on a prop table and hitting his head on an overhead speaker, the bell finally rang.

“Well, thanks for those….entertaining efforts, guys. Next time, let’s try to take it seriously, okay?”

“Kind of hard to do with ‘99 Luftballons’ playing in the background, sir.”

“I’ve had just about enough of your sass, Ziegler.”

“Sir, can we add you to the group chat?” Jackson asked eagerly. The others glared and shook their heads behind Richie’s back.

“Now, why would I want to interact with you snot-nosed brats any more than I have too?” Richie joked, but secretly he loved it when the kids included him in stuff like their group chats. “What’s the name?”

“We don’t really have one yet,” Jackson said without looking up from his phone. Jeannie slipped her own phone from her pocket and hastily deleted the many, many messages discussing Mr Uris and Mr Tozier before Jackson went ahead and gave the game away. “We keep changing it.”

“You name it, sir,” Veronica offered.

“Well, I am as witty as I am handsome,” Richie pretended to preen. “Let’s see...what cute little name do you all call yourselves? The Tozier Seven?”

The kids blushed. It was a stupid thing, and they didn’t know he knew, but the way he was grinning about it was sweet.

“We tried that,” Jeannie explained, “But it’s just a dumb nickname. It’s not very snappy.”

“True. I’m sure I’ll think of something, but right now you guys are about…” Richie checked his watch. “...Five minutes late for Mr Uris’ Math class. And you know if you’re late from one of my classes to his, he’ll kill me as well as you, so please leave.” The Tozier Seven scrambled for the door.

Stan was already in full flow by the time Richie’s little gang stumbled through the door. He narrowed his eyes but said nothing to their mumbled apologies as they took their seats. _Looks like I’ll have to have_ another _talk with Richie about punctuality. He’s worse than the students, honestly._

He watched them out of the corner of his eye as the class wore on and noticed an unusual amount of giggling coming from the double desk where Veronica Hudson and Sophie Ellison sat, red head and blonde pressed together. He saw the sunlight flash off the back of a phone case and rolled his eyes. _Rookie mistake, girls._ His classes were legendary for the strict ‘no phones policy’ and Mr Uris’ uncanny ability to spot a phone in a student’s hand from five metres away. In a second he was in front of their desk.

“Thanks for the new phone, Miss Ellison,” he said smoothly, holding out his hand. “I’ll take good care of it.” Sophie and Veronica started at each other in horror. Out of the corner of his eye, Stan saw Jeannie Ziegler slip her own phone back into her pocket, red-faced.

“Uh, sir, can’t I just -” Sophie started.

“I don’t think so, Miss Ellison.” He curled his fingers into his palm twice in a ‘give it here’ gesture. Sophie grimaced at her friends and handed it over.

Stan took a small glance down at the phone. He usually made a point of not looking at unlocked phones, thinking it an invasion of the students’ privacy, but something about the way they were acting made him suspicious. When he glanced at the screen, though, he saw nothing but the Skype app open on a group chat and a lot of frantic messages to ‘shut up, u guys!!!! he’ll see!!’ with dreadful grammar and many, many exclamation points. Frowning, he locked the phone and slipped it into his desk drawer. “Collect it from me at four o’clock please, Miss Ellison.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Sophie replied, looking relieved.

Stan sat down gratefully for lunch, carefully unfolding his napkin and laying it on his lap, obscenely glad to get some peace and quiet for moment. He loved teaching, of course, but there were moments when it was nice to be away from the childish shouting and immature jokes.

“Stan the Man!”

 _Oh,_ God.

“Richie. How’s your day going?”

“Fantastic. Just fantastic. Really great.” Stan could feel Richie’s leg jittering up and down under the table.

“That’s nice,” Stan said with slightly raised eyebrows. He didn’t know another teacher _anywhere_ that wore khaki shorts to school, let alone in _September_ in  _Maine._ The table was so narrow Stan could just feel Richie’s bare leg brush against his own. He looked at Richie’s plate. “For the love of God, Richie, seriously? What thirty-two-year-old puts _maple syrup_ on _mashed potatoes?_ ”

Richie grinned broadly. “I’m a growing boy, Stanley. I need energy. Besides, just because you have to get older doesn’t mean you have to get _boring._ ”

Stan sighed and massaged his temples a little. “You don’t have a group chat with your students, do you?”

Richie grinned. “Yeah, I do. Cool right?” He frowned. “How did you know that anyway?”

“They were on it in class.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, I had a free period, and -”

“ _Richie._ Have you ever heard of the concept of professional boundaries?”

Richie’s face fell a little. “Come on, Stan. I know where the line is, and I’m not gonna cross it. Other teachers message their students all the time. It’s just to help them with work and stuff.”

Stan sighed. “I’m sorry, it’s just… I don’t know how you do it.”

Richie’s brow creased above his glasses. “Do what?”

“You know...” Stan pushed his food around his plate, rearranging it – an anxious habit from when he was a child. “All your students love you. Sometimes I worry...”

“What? That your students don’t like you?” Richie began to smile. The idea of Stan, always so cool and in control, seeking approval from anyone, let alone a bunch of teenagers, was endearingly funny. “Stanley, I’m sure they all think you’re great. You don’t have to pretend to be all ‘down with the kids’ - trust me, they actually hate when teachers do that. They probably like that you set them firm boundaries. Different teaching styles work for different subjects, you know that.”

Stan smiled. “God knows I don’t know how to be ‘down with the kids’.” Richie had to laugh.

“Hey, you remember what we used to call ourselves as kids? You know, us, Bill Denbrough, Mike Hanlon, the others….there were seven of us, right?”

“Right. You, me, Bill, Mike….Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom...and Eddie Kaspbrak.”

“Yeah!”

“We called ourselves...the Losers’ Club?” Stan smiled. Richie grinned back at him.

“Yeah, that was it. The Losers’ Club.”

“Why are you asking?”

Richie fished his phone out of his back pocket. “Need a name for the group chat.”

Stan laughed. “I’m sure they’ll love you calling them losers.”

“Oh, they’ll put up with anything from me. Besides, they know I’m only joking.”

“Did you know what they were talking about on there earlier? I saw something about someone seeing...I assumed that was me.” Richie flushed bright red.

“Uh – Stan – you see, the thing is -”

“No, no, you’re right,” Stan shook his head. “It’s none of my business. Forget I asked.”

Richie typed under the table with one hand: ‘GUYS THAT WAS SO CLOSE B MORE CAREFUL NEXT TIME PLS!!!!’

There was a moment of blessed silence as Richie shovelled more maple-syrup-covered mashed potatoes into his mouth. “Damn,” Stan sighed after a moment. “I haven’t thought about the Losers’ Club in _ages._ ”

“I know, right?” Richie replied, mouth still full of food. Stan made a face. “I wonder what those guys are up to now. Bet none of them are stuck in this town like us.”

“If they were I think we’d know. Derry’s not that big.”

“True. If they did get out, I’m glad. This town is literally a nightmare.”

Stan raised his glass of water in a mock toast. “I’ll drink to that.”

“Yeah! To getting out of this town, and the Losers’ Club.”

“To the Losers’ Club.” They clinked glasses. Richie did more than clink, if Stan was honest – half his water slopped out over his shirt. Stan chuckled as Richie cursed and mopped at his soaked chest. When he noticed how the white t-shirt clung to the skin underneath, he stopped laughing and glanced away, feeling as though he was seeing something he shouldn’t. Richie glanced up through the thick lenses of his glasses, saw the rising blush creeping up Stan’s neck and the way he coyly glanced away from Richie, and felt a sudden surge of triumph. _Oh, that’s very interesting. Very interesting indeed._

**The losers club**

**proftrashmouth:** u guys aren’t gonna believe this

 **jjjones:** what sir tell us

 **proftrashmouth:** :/ actually…..maybe not. taking it a bit too far

 **queeniejeannie:** well, now we HAVE to know

 **proftrashmouth:** nope! I have such a thing as professional integrity u know!

 **deadgirlwalking:** no, u really don’t…..Tell Us

 **proftrashmouth:** LISTEN HUDSON U LITTLE BRAT ITS TMI IM NOT TELLING YOU

 **shalombitches:** oh my g-d what is happening rn


	3. In Kahoots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOO BOY THIS TOOK ME SOME TIME
> 
> im still not convinced any of this is funny or even mildly entertaining but.........enjoy

**The losers club**

**proftrashmouth:** fellas is it

 **proftrashmouth:** fellas is it g

 **margottagofast:** take ur time

 **proftrashmouth:** fellas is it gay to do homework

 **queeniejeannie:**????????

 **proftrashmouth:** bc if so u guys are the straightest straights I ever met

 **martymcfly:** sir all u asked us to do was youtube rip vine compilations

 **proftrashmouth:** SO U COULD ACT THEM OUT IN CLASS OK THERE WAS A PURPOSE

 **queeniejeannie:** p sure u just wanted to discuss memes all class

 **proftrashmouth:** im going to dropkick u all into the sun

 **gingershavesouls:** askjdjlsaljfs I love this chat

 **deadgirlwalking:** tozier pls dropkick me into the sun

“Good morning, Richie.” Richie glanced up from smiling at his phone to smile instead at Stan. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing,” Richie grinned even wider, slipping his phone back into his pocket and falling into step beside Stan. The cool September air brought the blood to Stan’s cheeks and ruffled his already tousled curls, and Richie caught himself staring a little. “How ya doing, Stan the Man? Got some super boring lessons planned?”

“At least I _plan_ my lessons.”

“Drama is all about spontaneity, Stanley. You can’t plan art.”

“I’m pretty sure Miss Taylor plans all her lessons, actually. So I guess you can plan Art.”

“Ha! Stan the Man gets off a good one!”

Stan gave Richie a sideways glance of amused irritation. “Please stop saying that.”

“I will when you stop getting off good ones.”

Stan chuckled slightly. How was Richie not cold in just that t-shirt? ( _T_ _hat shows off his arms, wow, has he started working out or something…_ _Hold on. W_ _here did that thought come from, Stanley?)_ And those skinny jeans didn’t look comfortable, either. Stan’s eyes ran down Richie’s body a little, and Richie grinned wickedly.

“Mr Uris, kindly don’t check out my ass on school property.”

Stan’s face flamed, but the comeback came from nowhere: “Well, don’t wear skintight pants, then. How much talcum powder did you have to use to get into those, just out of interest?”

It was Richie’s turn to blush. He felt the tips of his ears burn in that familiar, mortifying way. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he murmured, glancing away. Stan gave him a funny look – not a particularly snappy comeback from Trashmouth Tozier. Richie tried to ignore his pounding heart and pull himself together. “Come by my place tonight, maybe I’ll show you how I get out of them,” he forced himself to grin at Stan, wiggling his eyebrows. Stan snorted and elbowed him.

“I’d rather mark the 11th grade Algebra papers, if it’s all the same to you.”

They continued like that as they entered the school and headed to the staff room. Stan was still laughing at something Richie said as he shouldered open the door and stumbled into the silent room, face glowing, but stopped abruptly at the glares from the other teachers as the quiet was broken.

“Oh, shit – whoops,” Richie giggled quietly behind him, half falling into Stan in his rush through the door. “Morning people!” A few scattered ‘morning’s came back, but mostly the rest of the Derry High faculty rolled their eyes and turned away. Richie shrugged.

“No appreciation for high spirits at this school.”

“I think they probably just get too much ‘high spirits’ from the students to appreciate it from other teachers.”

“You may be on to something there, Stanman.”

Stan sat down and pulled out his lesson plans for the day. He had a freshman class first, which was always a joy, but he felt like he had it under control with this lesson plan. Richie’s group chat had given him the idea, actually – although he abhorred the use of phones in classrooms, he was making a concentrated effort to lighten up a bit, and this lesson plan was his first step towards relaxing his teaching style.

“What’s that I see?” Richie asked nosily, reaching over the coffee table and grabbing at Stan’s planner obnoxiously. Stan sighed and let him take it.

“My lesson plan. I know that’s a foreign concept to you, but -”

“Whoa, hey, what’s going on here, Stanley? What’s a Kahoot?”

“A quiz app. I looked it up, it lets you create your own quizzes and students use their phones to compete against each other to see who can get the most right. I thought it might be fun.” Richie’s eyes lit up, growing even huger behind his glasses.

“Fun? _Fun?_ Who are you, and what have you done with Stanley Ruth Uris?” Richie leaned back, face a picture of mock-horror. Stan rolled his eyes.

“My middle name is not _Ruth,_ Richie.”

“Whatever you say, Ruthie. This Kahoot thing actually does sound _awesome_ , which is a miracle since it was your idea.” Stan didn’t like where this was headed one bit. Richie had that glint in his eye, the one he got when he’d had some ‘great’ (read: stupid/reckless/inappropriate) idea. Richie batted his eyelashes theatrically. “ _Stanley_ …want to do a Kahoot tournament with my class vs. yours? Say yes!” He looked off-puttingly like an overgrown toddler, pouting and clasping his hands together as if in prayer.

“What possible teaching purpose would that have? I teach _Math._ You teach _Drama._ What crossover between those two subjects is there to quiz?”

“Not for education, then. For fun!”

“Oh, no. Not in my teaching time, you don’t.”

“On a lunchtime or something, then. _Please,_ Stan!” Stan should have known better than to let it get this far. Richie loved class competitions, tournaments, quizzes or anything competitive, and he especially loved challenging Stan to them. He knew how competitive Stan could get and ruthlessly, _gleefully_ exploited it at ever chance he got, and somehow, Stan _always_ fell for it. Well, not this time.

“No, Richie,” he said firmly. Richie’s face fell, and for a second Stan thought he was going to drop it. Then a sly grin spread over his face.

“Oh, I see how it is.”

“It’s not _‘how’_ anything, Richie.”

“Oh, isn’t it…chicken?”

Stan shook his head, his trademark _‘Isn’t Richie silly?’,_ knowing smile on his face. “You can’t seriously think I’m going to fall for that.”

Richie’s grin widened wolfishly. He made a low clucking noise in the back of his throat, steadily growing louder. A few other teachers looked up from their morning coffees at the noise, huffing irritably. Stan felt the blood creep up his neck to his face.

“Stop that.” Richie did not stop that. “Shut up, Tozier!” The clucking grew to shrieking squawks. Stan groaned, head falling back, hands running through his hair in desperation.

“Fine! Fine!”

The verbal white flag raised, Richie stopped clucking instantly. “Fine _what_ , Stanley?”

“Fine, I’ll let you do the stupid competition.”

“ _Yes!_ ” Richie clapped his hands and fell back into the sofa. Stan groaned.

“ _Do not_ make me regret this.”

“I won’t, I swear. Oh my God, this is gonna be so cool…we’re gonna absolutely wreck you.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yeah. Not only are we gonna beat you, we’re gonna make you cry. And then we’re gonna tell your momma about it.”

“That’s fighting talk, Tozier. This lunchtime, my classroom. Bring your best, because you’re gonna need them.”

“Let’s make it a little more interesting – I bet you 10 dollars my class will beat yours.”

“I’m not _betting_ on my students, Richie.”

“50 dollars, then.”

“….You’re on.”

“Wait, hey, who’s setting the questions? I won’t have you cheating, Stanley. I know what you people are like.”

Stan grimaced. “Shut up, Tozier. We’ll use someone else’s quiz. General knowledge, just to make the playing field level, since I doubt your students know much about Math.”

“About as much as yours know about Drama.”

“Touché.” The bell rang. Richie walked Stan to the door of the staff room, holding it open for Stan and following him out. “See you on the battlefield, Tozier.”

“Prepare for your imminent destruction, Uris.” They grinned at each other, and then walked away down opposite ends of the corridor.

**the losers club**

**proftrashmouth:** say im the best teacher ever

 **queeniejeannie:** we will do no such thing

 **proftrashmouth:** fine then u dont get to take part in the super awesome lunchtime activity I have planned

 **gingershavesouls:** ur the best teacher ever!

 **deadgirlwalking:** ur the best teacher ever, whats the activity

 **queeniejeannie:** traitors

 **margottagofast:** ur the best teacher ever (sorry jeannie)

 **jjjones:** ur the best teacher ever, not sorry jeannie

 **queeniejeannie:** screw u too jackson

 **proftrashmouth:** now now kiddies play nice

 **martymcfly:** ur the best teacher ever, is it a field trip???

 **queeniejeannie:** isaac will back me up. isaac loves me

 **shalombitches:** ur the best teacher ever

 **proftrashmouth:** HA

 **queeniejeannie:** ET TU BRUTAE

 **deadgirlwalking:** whats the activity?????

 **proftrashmouth:** im only saying if ALL of u say im the best teacher ever

 **deadgirlwalking:** jeannie pls

 **shalombitches:** jeannie for the sake of our sanity

 **margottagofast:** JEANNIE

 **queeniejeannie:** ur the best teacher ever. ur all on my list btw.

 **proftrashmouth:** thank u jeannie, ur so kind to say that! I can now reveal that I, richard s. tozier, Best Teacher Ever, have organised a super awesome battle royale game of kahoot against mr uris’ math class this lunchtime in his classroom (which u r all required to attend). ur welcome.

 **queeniejeannie:** all that and ur just using us to flirt w ur crush

 **proftrashmouth:** NO I MOST CERTAINLY AM NOT

 **queeniejeannie:** yes u r

_ **queeniejeannie** has been removed from the chat_

 **jjjones:** is this an extra-credit assignment??

Richie was a bundle of nervous energy as he waited for his class to walk into Stan’s classroom, leg bouncing under the desk he was slumped at. Stan and his students were already there, of course, having just finished a lesson, and of his twenty students, eight had chosen to stay behind and battle it out with Richie’s seven.

“Well, Mr Tozier. It’s 1:05. Where are they?”

“Five minutes is not late, Stanley.”

Stan thought about correcting Richie on the use of his first name, and then thought better of it. “If they don’t come soon, we may have to break this up.”

“Just because you and your little math freaks were here early….” Richie muttered just under his breath. Some of Stan’s class frowned. “Besides,” he continued in a louder voice, “This is just for fun, right? Who cares what time they show up?”

“Punctuality is always important, even if you’re having fun.”

“I cannot _believe_ you actually just said that. You’re turning into a parody of yourself.” Richie could feel a good bicker coming on, and relished the prospect, wanting something to distract himself from the worry that his class just wouldn’t show up.

“You _did_ remember to tell them about it, right?”

“Is that really what you think of me? That I’m stupid enough to _forget_ to tell my class about my _own_ quiz!?” Richie pressed a hand to his chest in mock horror.

“Yes,” Stan deadpanned. “That’s _exactly_ how stupid I think you are.”

“How _dare_ yo-”

“Sorry we’re late, sir!”

Richie breathed an internal sigh of relief as his class, lead by Jeannie, trooped in. “Ladies, gentlemen. Welcome to the Thunderdome.”

“What’s the Thunderdome?” Jackson asked in honest confusion. Richie sighed.

“Well, given that this quiz is on 80s trivia, we’re off to a pretty bad start.” He turned to Stan. “Mr Uris, wanna do the honours?”

“Okay, everyone. Before we start, I’d like to say this was _not_ my idea, and if you have any complaints about your precious lunch time being wasted, please direct them to my colleague.” Richie waved. “We’re doing this because a _certain someone_ bet me 50 dollars his class could beat mine, and being the caring teacher I am, I defended your honour.” Stan’s students giggled a little. “Some of you were insane or bored enough to join me, so here we are. You guys were all in my class today, so you know how the game works, but for Mr Tozier’s students, here’s the rules...”

Richie blacked out a little as Stan launched into his ‘rules and regulations’ spiel. Stan was too cute to listen to properly even when he was talking about something interesting, but with the dull topic unable to command his flighty attention span, Richie’s brain soon moved on to more interesting subjects; subjects like the cupid-bow curve of Stan’s lips and the light shimmering in his lazy, light-brown curls, his high cheekbones and perfect jawline shown off as he turned his head a little, the cords of his pale neck and his Adam’s apple exposed as his collar shifted…

“Mr Tozier? Richie!”

“Huh?” He came back down to Earth with a bump.

“Are we playing, or what?” Stan frowned at him. Richie nodded, jumping down from the desk.

“Bring it on.”

Half an hour later, Richie and his class stood up as one, yelling in outrage as the final score flashed up on the TV screen connected to Stan’s computer.

“You cheated!”

“How – exactly – did I cheat, Richard?” Stan asked with a smug grin threatening to overwhelm his face, forgetting in the heat of the moment to refer to Richie professionally, but using his full name to annoy his colleague as much as possible. It worked.

“Don’t call me that! I don’t know, but – somehow, you cheated. Somehow,” Richie spluttered. “There is no possible way you could have won.”

“And why is that?”

“ _Because_ I _was cheating!”_ Richie's face flushed at his own outburst, adjusting his coke-bottle glasses frantically, freckles lost in his red cheeks.

“Ah- _hah!”_ Stan crowed triumphantly. “I _knew_ you looked the answers up before hand!”

“I don’t understand! _How_ did you win!?” Richie was at a loss. The students were simply enjoying the show, their Drama teacher and their Math teacher nose-to-nose in the centre of the classroom, both blushing down their necks and to the roots of their hair, and quite obviously enjoying themselves immensely.

“I changed the quiz at the last minute. Nice try.”

“That’s cheating.”

“It is not! It’s preventing _you_ from cheating, which is not the same thing.”

“I want a second opinion.” Richie drew himself up to his full height.

“From _who,_ you ridiculous man? There isn’t a _referee_.”

“There should be.”

“Just accept your defeat like a real man and move on. Oh, and give me my 50 bucks.”

“….Listen. About that...”

Stan shook his head, grinning. “You have until tomorrow, Tozier. Tomorrow, and then I’m hiring someone to break your legs. A bet’s a bet.”

“This is my villain origin story,” Richie muttered, glaring at the floor. The classroom erupted into giggles, including Stan.


End file.
